Billionaire's Second Chance

“It's been a long week, huh?”

I smiled and stood from my side of the desk.

“It has. But we've been productive as hell, haven't we? I feel pretty confident that this campaign is as good as it can possibly be. I think they're about to see yet another spike in sales.”

“I think so, too, Lilah. I think so, too. Come on, shut your computer down and then we can get the hell out of here. I love working, don't get me wrong, but we've been cooped up in here for what, 13-14 hours every day this week? I think it's about time for some R and R.”

It was Friday, and Asher and I had yet to speak about last Saturday. We had both danced around anything personal the whole week, doing our best to stay totally focused on getting the job done, and getting it done well. And we'd achieved that with flying colors. But without that to focus on, I was feeling just like I could only guess he was feeling—a strange combination of exhausted, energized, and slightly awkward.

Something had to give. And, if past experience with Asher was any indication, having a drink could prove to be exactly what was needed to quell all of those.

“I don't know about you,” I ventured, “but I'm feeling like . . . I don't know, like doing something. I mean, I'm tired, but I don't want to just go home and sleep. I feel like it'd be a waste given that I'm still pretty pumped from the excitement of wrapping this thing up successfully.”

“I hear you,” he said. “Maybe we should be doing something to celebrate. But, to be honest, I don't really feel up to going out someplace where I have to deal with people. I’m psyched up, but not that energetic.”

“Well, I have a bottle or two of bubbly at my place that I shouldn’t open all by my lonesome. If you'd like to come over and have a drink, I feel like this is as good a time as any to pop it open. We do have something to celebrate, after all.”

Asher smiled that crooked smile of his that does something to my insides. “That sounds great. I'll shut everything down here and then meet you there shortly.”

A wave of unexpected excitement rushed through me. “I’ll go ahead then. See you at my place.”

***

“Another glass?” I asked with a sly grin, feeling all warm and tingly from the champagne I was definitely drinking too quickly. Somehow, though, I'd stopped caring about retaining absolute control. In fact, I was ready to lose control completely. Everything that had been so bottled up inside over the past few weeks was threatening to spill out and bubble over, and I was pretty damned close to being ready to let that happen.

“Fill it up,” he said with a smile.

I filled our glasses and took a seat next to him on the sofa. We'd been laughing and joking, edging closer and closer to each other on the sofa after starting out at opposite ends when we'd first opened the bottle.

“You did a fantastic job on the Harry Winston case,” Asher told me yet again. “I know I've already said it a thousand times, but seriously, you've impressed me. And, that’s not an easy task. Your work ethic and dedication are off the charts. I'm not sure how you came up with the concept you did, but it's been an honor to take it to its conclusion with you.”

I blushed. I couldn’t help it. It was obvious that his words weren’t mere flattery, but rather a true compliment that came from the heart.

“Thank you,” I replied quietly. It's been a real pleasure working with you. I've learned so much in such a short amount of time. I never dreamed I'd be given so many opportunities to improve my craft and hone my skills so quickly. And, being around someone as dedicated and inspired—and immensely talented—as you and your team have really given me inspiration to push and challenge myself.”

A smile tugged at his lips as he sipped his champagne. “I'm glad you feel that way,” he said. “The inspiration has been working both ways, I'll have you know. Before you came along, I felt a bit stuck on the Harry Winston thing. I'd hit some sort of rut. I'm not sure why, but I just wasn't feeling the fire in my veins the way I have in previous years and previous campaigns. But since you came along, you’ve breathed new life into this campaign—and my company. I've felt like my old self again.”

I wasn't sure how to interpret his last comment and even less certain how I should respond. What I was certain of was that it caused my heart to start beating a little faster and my breathing had quickened. I couldn’t help wondering if it was as obvious to him as it was to me. Because I was completely out of my element and the conversation was taking us to a place I wasn't sure I was ready to go to yet, to put it simply: I panicked.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” I blurted out. I clearly have the worst defense strategies possible when my nerves kick in.

“Sounds good,” he answered with a bit of a chuckle under his breath. Apparently, he recognized the abrupt subject change. How could he not?

“Let me have a look at what's on Netflix.”

I fumbled with the remote for a few moments and then brought up the Netflix menu and we started scanning through the list of movies.

“What do you feel like watching?” I asked.

“Oh, hmm. How about something classic?”

“How 'classic' are you talking? I mean, that's a broadly defined term in this day and age, you know. Like, black and white classics from the ’50s or ’60s? Or are we talking auteur stuff from the ’70s? Cult classics from the ’80s and ’90s?”

He grinned and sipped on his drink like he was stifling his amusement. “Sounds like someone's a bit of a film buff,” he said with a grin.

I squinted an eye at him. “Don’t laugh, but it’s possible I was in Cinema Club at high school.”

“No, no, that's awesome! It's refreshing to meet someone who's into the art of film.”